


listen to the river in your heart

by xerampelinae



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spirited Away, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-25 04:22:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14969003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xerampelinae/pseuds/xerampelinae
Summary: “You saved me, Keith,” Shiro says. “You caught me up and brought me to shore. How many times are you going to save me?”“As many times as it takes,” Keith says, and they rise back up into the air.-Inspired by @crushmeshiro's spirited away au on twitter: https://twitter.com/crushmeshiro/status/1004536353869230082





	listen to the river in your heart

_The first sunshine day after a storm, tiny boots slip along the slick wood of an old bridge spanning a West-flowing river, swollen with recent rain. A cry rings out--an aging guardian fails to intervene in time. The splash is quiet._

_Before anything more can be done, the waters rise and the shining river deposits the laughing child on the steep riverbank. Then the waters spill gently back, watchful and patient._

_The guardian spills quickly across the bridge and down the lush green riverbank, scooping up the unworried and unharmed child. It is a blessing in the life of one who has already lost so much._

-

Shiro doesn’t know what to do. He’s known many obstacles but the ones he currently faces are strange and unknown. Rediscovering his home country and exploring the lush forested space near the Kumamoto Garrison has gone awry--there were little things he had forgotten, studying Stateside for so many years--when he’d been assured that there were plenty of day hikes to go to during weekends and school breaks. 

Leaving the graveyard where his family’s ash rests, he had needed a break. Between financial burden and the intensity of Garrison training, Shiro hadn’t visited since before his grandfather had died--before he left for the Garrison. He’d followed something off the path, worried for it. And now he’s in a stranger world than anything he’s seen in the stars. Shiro’s seen old temples and grand buildings preserved and restored; the town he wanders is too alive to be any of them. That’s without considering the crowd of faces and builds he knows only from distant memories of children’s picture books.

He yearns for his grandfather’s advice, but he pushes the thought down for something more productive. He knows there’s a word for this-- _kamikakushi,_ a spiriting-away by old gods--but between a life lived between two different countries and dedication to scientific fact and method, his knowledge falls short. Shiro has only his will and his grandfather’s teachings.

-

“You shouldn’t be here,” a dark-haired boy in traditional clothing says, not cruelly but uncut by gentling tones. And yet there’s something magnetic about him that draws Shiro’s attention. I want to be his friend, Shiro thinks inanely.

“I don’t know why or how I’m here,” Shiro admits, swaying on his feet. He clutches at his right deltoid, hardly daring to grip lower for the strange numbness rising up it.

The stranger’s frown deepens. “Leave now!”

The sharpness of the words slips by Shiro as he tries to breathe through the discomfort.

“Before it gets dark--” the stranger says vehemently, “leave!”

The daylight is, indeed going. Too quickly. The lights of a grand old bathhouse come alive.

“I’ll buy you some time,” the boy says, “go past the river!”

Frowning, Shiro obeys. He can’t not follow this stranger’s requests and answer his furious questions with gentleness. He knows this beyond the words they’ve exchanged. He hurries doggedly, right arm swaying lax and strange at his side. A strange wind washes out over the filled-in river and then carries cleanly back with the chatter of a town coming alive.

Shiro runs as discreetly as possible; it’s effortful and his form likely sticks out as too human, so there probably isn’t much use. It’s a focus that diverts his mind from panic at least. Finally he reaches a naturally-sheltered area off the river and he sinks down into a crouch to conceal himself in as much shadow as he can manage.

His hands have gone see-through by the time the stranger catches up to him.

“This isn’t a dream, is it?” Shiro asks, heart pounding but tone calm. His heart rate will drop soon enough: benefits of Garrison fighter pilot training, which prizes most calm, measured response under fire, be it mechanical or hostile.

“No,” the stranger says, and proffering a tiny pill, “you need to eat this or you’ll disappear.”

Shiro considers his fading hands and the stranger’s possible intentions before nodding. His hands slip through the stranger’s palm so he lowers his head and trustfully eats the pill from it. Under his molars the pill cracks cleanly in a burst of citrus flavor, washing coolly down his throat when swallowed.

“I can touch you,” Shiro says blandly, almost instantaneously feeling his hands curl around a strong wrist.

“I told you,” the stranger says, “come with me.”

Shiro tries to stand and fails. It’s a puzzle--he’s done enough PT to know his body better than this--that the stranger quickly solves.

“Take a deep breath,” he orders, hand braced on Shiro’s arm. “Give this one freedom from curses.”

Shiro rises without prompting, steadied by the stranger’s hand.

“Now,” he says, “we must cross back along the bridge.”

-

Crossing the bridge without breathing is not an issue, at least not for a near fully-grown man with fairly extensive cardiovascular training. He and the stranger then pass through an orderly garden together to stone-hewn stairs, pausing before a door.

“Through here is the boiler room,” the stranger says. “Old Man Coran will be there. You must ask him to work. You must. Otherwise Haggar will find you.”

“Coran?” Shiro says. “Haggar?”

A shadow passes through the stranger’s eyes. “You’ll know when you see her. She’s a witch that rules this world.”

“Okay,” Shiro says.

“You must not say no or that you wish to return home,only that you wish to work,” the stranger says. “I’ll help you get home, Takashi.”

“How do you know my name?” Shiro asks, stunned. If he’d been addressed by his surname, he wouldn’t be surprised; it’s embroidered onto his uniform jacket, even if only in blocky English lettering. Shiro hasn’t spoken a word of English since the plane left the states, even though the local prefectures tend to offer English language classes. It’s been a long time since someone used his first name at all, let alone correctly.

“I’ve known you since you were little,” the stranger says. “My name is Keith.”

Before Shiro can process this, cries ring out about the stink of a human, that there must be some human wandering freely about-- _oops,_ Shiro thinks--and Keith squeezes Shiro’s arm reassuringly and lets go. He vanishes into the crisp night air. Shiro squares his shoulders, takes a deep breath, and knocks at the door.

-

Coran is the many-limbed figure, bright-haired and mustached tending to the boiler that fuels the bath house.

“I can see you’re a hard-working young man,” Coran says when Shiro asks for a job, “but I have no openings right now.”

And indeed he doesn’t: a crew of four mice ferry coal into the boiler. But the stranger-- _Keith_ \--had been insistent, so Shiro asks again. Coran denies him again. Then one of the mice drops his weighty load on himself; Shiro can only free the mouse and transport the heavy coal to the boiler himself.

By the time Shiro turns back to Coran, he’s sweating with exertion and the heat rolling off the boiler. Coran is no longer alone with the mice.

“Who’s this?” a white-haired but youthful woman says, hands scattering something like konpeito on the ground for the mice. “It’s a human?”

“It’s my grandchild,” Coran says.

“Grandchild?” the woman says, looking between the two of them dubiously. Between Coran’s bright hair and Shiro’s dark and far more muscular build, not to mention his status as a human, it’s a fairly blatant lie.

“He wants to work, but we’re full here,” Coran says. “Will you take him to Haggar? She’ll take care of it.”

“No way,” the woman says, white hair swaying around her shoulders as she lurches back. “I’ll get killed!”

“How about for some burnt lizard?” Coran says, waving a dessicated lizard-shaped item enticingly about. “Either way, to work he’ll need a contract with Haggar.”

The woman sighs, snagging the lizard. “Hey kid, follow me.”

“Yes ma’am,” Shiro says, crossing the bare dirt floor then hesitating. “Uh.”

“Leave your shoes and socks,” the woman orders, pacing away surefootedly.

“Yes ma’am,” Shiro says, leaving his boots and socks with the waiting mice. “Thank you,” he says with a quick bow to them and Coran.

-

Obediently shadowing the woman on the winding path upwards through the bathhouse, it takes Shiro a surprisingly long time to learn her name. Allura doesn’t introduce herself, only responds to her name when addressed. She has her hands full redirecting attention from someone tall enough he can’t hide behind her, especially when he can be tracked by smell as well. 

Luckily, if stressfully, a daikon god steps in and carefully blocks Shiro from sight. It is a strange, unexpected kindness, and Shiro finds himself bowing automatically when he finally reaches the top floor of the bathhouse. With a tip of his head, the daikon god descends back into the depths of the bathhouse.

With a steadying breath, Shiro marches forward and reaches out to knock on the ornate doors. Before he can do so, a strange force sweeps him up, arms pinned down as he’s drawn down hallway after hallway, doors slamming open and closed around him.

“Come here now,” a strange voice orders, sharp as a predator’s, “what is a human doing in a place where gods rest and relax?”

-

He asks and asks again. The witch denies and denies again.

The meeting with Haggar is a violet-tinted blur that would worry him more if he had the mental resources to spare--Garrison training is intended to encompass accident response, he’s done simulations and test flights enough to know this is not how his body responds--that weakens only when Haggar’s giant baby ( _”Lotor,”_ she coos, in a voice at odds with the voice and manner she uses with anything and anyone else) appears and distracts her.

Finally, Haggar produces a contract out of her opulent study and he’s signing his name character by careful character. Haggar looks at his name and scoffs. _Kuron_ is a more fitting name for a bathhouse worker. Kuron follows Keith--Haggar’s apprentice Keith--out of the study until they reach Allura again. A thought grasps for control: something is wrong with Keith. He is not meant to be cold and sharp as a newly-sharpened blade. He is meant to be something different, even if Kuron doesn’t know why.

Keith passes him firmly off to a protesting Allura, but she drops the facade as soon as they’re alone again. He follows her into the women’s sleeping quarters--he’s 16, older looking rather than the typical indeterminately youthful Asian, long old enough to be shuffled off to men’s quarters--but he doesn’t protest as he accepts traditional clothing and obediently re-dresses.

“Eat something and get some sleep,” Allura says kindly, watching him list wearily, “you’ll be okay.”

Nodding, Kuron strips off his outermost layers, crawls under his appointed futon, and falls into a deep exhausted sleep.

-

He wakes quietly, breath steady amidst the ocean of staggered sleepers’ breathing. The door slides open and bare feet pick their way through the chaotic spread of futons.

“Come with me,” Keith says in a low voice that doesn’t carry. Kuron keeps his face tucked down and his breathing even as Keith leaves. Once the door slides shut, Kuron falls back on the old habit of waking up earlier than his roommates and preparing for the day in silence. No ironing is necessary here, at least; he has no way to find the tools or set them up. He manages to dress and slip out of the room without waking anyone. From there Kuron looks about and begins the quiet, barefooted descent to Coran’s quarters.

“My boots are gone,” Kuron murmurs worriedly,” then the mice sweep out of their holes with the boots and he’s thanking them. Feet bare in broken-in combat boots, Kuron steps out into the bright sunlight and traces his steps back to the garden. Then a hand firmly grasps his and suddenly Kuron’s running with Keith through colorfully-blooming rhododendron bushes. They stop deep within the garden, hidden by flower and leaf.

“Are you okay?” Keith asks. Kuron nods and accepts a bundle of clothing. “You should hide this.”

“Oh,” Kuron says, recognizing his uniform. “I thought it was thrown away.”

“You’ll need it when you go back,” Keith says, eyes serious.

Kuron thoughtfully unfurls the jacket, smoothing out the folds and running his fingers over the name embroidered at the breast. “Shirogane?” he frowns. “That’s my name.”

A frisson of fear rolls down his spine as he thinks of how easily it was to be transformed from Shiro to Kuron.

“Haggar takes people’s names and controls them,” Keith says, hand on Shiro’s shoulder. An errant part of his brain notices it’s always his right. “Call yourself Kuron, but keep your real name.”

“My real name was almost taken away,” Shiro says numbly. “I would’ve been Kuron.”

“When she takes your name, you’ll forget the way back,” Keith says, grave but kind. “I can’t remember mine.”

“Your real name?” Shiro asks, hand rising and hovering. American habits of interpersonal contact conflict with the knowledge that other cultures consider that too handsy.

“But that’s strange,” Keith says, shaking his head in a way that sends his dark hair flying about his shoulders. “I remembered you.”

Shiro nods. It must be important that he’s what Keith remembers and nothing else. If only they could remember why, if only just one of them.

“We need to find out why you’re here,” Keith says, eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

“What do you mean?” Shiro asks.

“Something anchors you here. There are boundaries where it’s easier to cross into the spirit world” Keith says, “but you took nothing that would make them target you. It must have been something else.”

“I know I was following a trail and then something else,” Shiro admits. “I was worried. But I don’t know why.

“There’s something strange about my arm,” Shiro adds. “Sometimes it’s like it’s disappearing.”

“Did I--” Keith asks, frowning.

Shiro shakes his head. “It’s not a problem when you’re around.”

Keith sighs and produces several onigiri out of seemingly nowhere. “I’ll look into it. You should eat,”

Shiro takes a bite out of the first onigiri and stops, mouth full, to offer up one of the uneaten ones. He’s lived in dormitories and in military life long enough to have strong nutrient acquisition reflexes; Keith is probably innocent of that. 

“Don’t worry,” Keith says, eyes bright and unexpectedly fond, “I made it for you.”

Blushing under his watch, Shiro eats every bite of onigiri.

-

Shiro’s first night as a bathhouse worker comes quickly. Allura finds him in Coran’s quarters, where he’d his human possessions and passed out. They have a great deal of scrubbing to do to make it through quite a bit of deferred maintenance. And then the customers come.

Allura and Shiro’s first customer is preceded by his smell--great enough to draw Haggar down from her office to try and send him away--which is not unlike standing water, rust, oil, and other things that Shiro can recognize but not name.

It’s a daunting task to face--Allura is off grabbing their breakfasts--but Shiro hasn’t gotten to where he is (in the human realm, at least) by giving up in the face of overwhelming odds.

Shiro persists, and out of churned, stinking mud and piles of trash a lion-faced dragon rises with a bathhouse-rumbling purr. The Black Lion leaves him with a medicinal-looking sphere that Shiro tucks away in his fist as the bathhouse workers around him scramble for its gold. Then it’s back to work. There is no time until later to think about how deeply beneath those things the river god was buried.

-

Shiro’s arm wakes him with a stab of pain instead of the usual numbness. He stumbles out of the room, breathless with discomfort and worry that he might make wake someone up. He sighs with relief when he makes it out the door and shuts it without hearing anything more than gentle snores. As Shiro rests against the wood railing, the pain vanishes into numbness as he catches sight of a coral and white dragon flying in the distance, writhing as a swarm of strange birds dive and wheel around it.

“Keith?” Shiro says, heart hammering with a sudden fear. The dragon must hear him, twisting and turning mid-air to follow his voice. It dives suddenly, shedding birds but not enough, and then it’s racing up towards Shiro.

Up close, the dragon is wild-eyed and bleeding; Shiro grabs it bodily and throws them to the floor if the hallway. He takes the impact with his shoulder and rolls them so he can shield the dragon with his body, even as the dragon writhes and Shiro knocks the paper birds clear with his palms, scattering along the floor as still paper. The dragon goes slack.

“Keith?” Shiro repeats, lying across the dragon’s sinuous body in a mess of paper and blood. The dragon’s eyes open and it twists gently clear of Shiro to scale the bathhouse, disappearing within. Heart clenching now with worry, Shiro follows the dragon up.

-

“The fool is useless,” Shiro hears Haggar says, creaking voice spilling throughout the floor. Shiro holds his breath fearfully as Haggar’s voice becomes louder. “Take care of Keith.”

The three heads that Allira calls the generals bounce and roll through Haggar’s study. Haggar leans close and coos to her baby then descends back into the heart of the bathhouse. Shiro exhales finally and tries to pull himself clear of the cushions, only to find himself caught.

“Ah,” Shiro says. “Thank you for saving me. Please let me go, I need to go.”

Haggar’s inhumanly large baby stares him down. “You came to spread bad germs.”

“What?” Shiro says eloquently. 

“There are only bad germs outside.”

“I’m a human,” Shiro manages, pushing down a lecture on microbiology. “I know I seem strange here--”

“It’s bad outside,” Lotor says. “Stay here and play with me.”

“My friend’s hurt,” Shiro says. “I have to leave to help him.”

Lotor squints unhappily at him. “If I cry Haggar will come and kill you. Your arm will break easily.”

Shiro cringes with discomfort as the grip on his forearm tightens, then he’s free. Lotor’s fingers slip through his arm, Lotor reaches for Shiro again; panicked, Shiro thinks about old superstitions and gets his hand up to display the blood still smeared across his palm. 

“Blood,” he shouts. The baby falls away, squalling. Shiro scrambles clear and makes it out of the bedroom to where the dragon lies in a bloody heap under the generals. They’re trying to herd him into an open chute set into the floor. Like trash to be disposed of.

“No--” Shiro gasps, reaching out. “Get away!”

The generals disperse and Shiro kneels down. “Keith--Keith, are you okay?”

The dragon is still under Shiro’s hands, breathing shallow and infrequent. He absently thinks about how there are no protocols for first aid for dragons but maybe he can adapt human protocols.

“I don’t care about a little blood,” Lotor yells, stomping his way into the study. “If you don’t play with me I’ll cry.”

“No--” Shiro gasps again, this time hunkering down protectively over the dragon.

“My, my, you’re a spoiled child aren’t you?” a familiar voice says from over Shiro’s shoulder.

“Haggar?” Lotor says.

“Can’t tell the difference between me and your mom?” the voice says mockingly.

Haggar’s image waves her hand and Lotor shrinks to a mouse while Haggar’s familiar transforms into a tiny bird. The generals try to flee but take Lotor’s form and begin to explore the space with their new shape.

“Who are you?” Shiro asks.

“Haggar’s twin Honerva,” she says. “Thanks to you, I’ve been able to explore this whole place. Now, give me that dragon.”

“What will you do with Keith?” Shiro asks. “He’s in a lot of pain.”

“He’s my sister’s servant,” Honerva says, “a dragon thief who stole from me.”

“He wouldn’t do that,” Shiro protests.

Honerva scoffs. “Under my sister’s contract he would. Move out of the way, he won’t survive anyways; what he stole was cursed to kill whoever took it.”

“No,” Shiro says, shielding the dragon once more. The generals begin to stomp through the room and the split second that Honerva’s attention is diverted, the dragon is coiling around Shiro, tail snapping out at Honerva.

“Ah, my guard was down,” Honerva says, and vanishes. Shreds of a paper bird drift to the floor.

“Keith--” Shiro says as the dragon struggles under and around him, knocking into Lotor and his bird. Then they’re all falling.

-

_Waters rise up. A shining river. Fearless, joyful laughter._

-

“Keith?” Shiro murmurs, calmer though they’re still falling. He reaches out and tucks Lotor and his bird close. “What was that?”

The dragon comes alive and they stop just before the floor of Coran’s quarters. Shiro bounces into Coran’s arms and scrambles back, even as the dragon collapses once more.

“Keith, hold on,” Shiro says desperately, gathering the dragon in his arms even as it snarls. Blood splatters the dirt floor. “What should I do? Keith will die.”

“Something is eating him up from the inside,” Coran says, peering down at them.

“From inside?”

“It’s a strong magic,” Coran says. “I won’t be able to help.”

Shiro frowns and thinks of the river god. “Keith,” he says, scrabbling at his layers. “The river god gave me this. Eat it and it might help.

“Open your mouth.” The dragon fights him, jaws closed stubbornly. Desperately, Shiro pries them open and slips his arm deep inside with the medicine. “Please, Keith, please eat it.”

The dragon’s throat works as it swallows unwillingly.

“There, there,” Shiro says, with a calm he doesn’t quite feel. Right now he can only hope it’s a medicine that will help Keith. He eases them down to the floor, stroking the dragon’s sides soothingly. Then the dragon spasms and coughs up black blood and a golden seal. The black blood congeals into something living; in terrified instinct, Shiro slams his hand down and crushes it.

-

“Coran,” Shiro says, after Keith’s shifted back into a more human form and been tucked into a futon. “This stamp belongs to Haggar’s sister.”

“A witch’s stamp?” Coran says. “That’s bad.”

Together, they look back at Keith.

“He’s hardly breathing,” Shiro says worriedly.

“Looks like the curse isn’t completely gone,” Coran sighs. “He came out of nowhere one day, as you did. He wanted to be Haggar’s apprentice, but he lost his way home and became her servant instead.”

Shiro sets his jaw determinedly. “I’ll return the seal to Honerva,” he says, curling his fingers around it. “I’ll apologize and ask her to forgive Keith. So, please tell me where she lives.”

“Honerva’s a scary witch,” Coran says.

“Please,” Shiro says. “Keith saved me. I want to save him too.”

Coran turns to a tall chest of drawers and begins to riffle through it. “I don’t have a way back for you. There isn’t a return train these days. Will you still go.”

“Yes,” Shiro says. “I’ll just follow the railroad back.”

“Use this then, Kuron,” Coran says, passing over a stack of folded tickets. “For the sixth station, Swamp’s Bottom.”

“Thank you, Coran,” Shiro says, then kneels down beside Keith’s futon. “Keith, please wait until I come back. Don’t die.”

Before Shiro can stand, the sound of running pelts its way down the stairs and the door to Coran’s quarters slams open. “Coran! Have you seen Kuron? There’s all this blood outside our quarters and he’s _gone--”_

“I’m here, Allura,” Shiro says, standing. She gapes at him and the blood on his bathhouse uniform.

“What happened--” Allura says finally.

“Keith’s hurt,” Shiro says simply. “I need to go get help. Do you know how I should reach the railway station?”

“I can help with that,” Allura says. “You should--change.”

“Okay,” Shiro says.The mice produce Shiro’s Garrison uniform and he quickly re-dresses. “What next?” he asks, staring at Keith.

-

Allura rows him out to the station, and leaves him with a warning to be careful. Lotor and his bird keep him company on the train. It’s a quiet ride, even as daylight is slowly eaten away. By the time they reach Swamp’s Bottom, it’s twilight. A lamp leads them in long leaps back to Honerva’s house.

“Ma’am,” Shiro says once they’ve been ushered in. “This is the stamp Keith stole. I came to return it.”

“Do you know what it is?” Honerva asks, turning it over in her hands.

“Nothing beyond its importance to you,” Shiro admits. “I came to apologize for Haku, too. I’m sorry.”

Honerva looks at Shiro. “You carried this and nothing happened? Its spell is gone.”

Shiro coughs, raising his hand awkwardly. “Sorry, I crushed it with my hand and killed it.”

“Crushed it with your hand?” Honerva says. “That was the spell my sister put into the dragon to control it. And you crushed it with your hand.

“Well, you might as well sit down.”

-

Shiro sits and frets as Honerva sets Lotor and his bird to work, spinning a violet thread from seemingly nothing. “Will you turn them to themselves?” he asks.

“Them?” Honerva says. “The magic wore off long ago. They will turn back when they want.

“We’re supposed to be twins, but our opinions don’t agree. I want to help you, but our laws say otherwise.”

Shiro cocks his head in confusion. “May I have a hint? It seems like Keith and I met before.”

“Then your story’s simple,” Honerva says. “Once you meet people, it’s hard to forget. You just can’t remember. But it’s late now, go ahead and rest.”

“I think I need to go,” Shiro says. “Keith might be dying while I wait here--”

“Just a little longer,” Honerva says, twisting the thread into a slender, glimmering ring. “Here, wear this on your finger. It’s all our love put together.”

“Thank you,” Shiro says, slipping it onto his right hand. It fits the ring finger.

“Good timing, too,” Honerva says, looking up. “We have a guest. Please open the door.”

Shiro obeys and gasps at the sight of the dragon, healthy and unbloodied. “Keith! Keith, I wanted to see you, are you okay?”

He runs up to the dragon, circling it in wonder.

“Keith,” Honerva says. “I’ll forgive you, but take good care of Kuron. Now, it’s time for you to go. Please come again.”

“Thank you,” Shiro says. “My real name is Shirogane.”

“That’s a nice name,” Honerva says. “Take care. Now go on.”

“Thank you,” Shiro says again, and climbs up onto Keith’s back with Lotor and his bird.

-

“Keith,” Shiro says. “Listen. My grandfather once told me this story from when I was small--I fell into the river after it rained so much that they worried the water would spill passed the banks.

“That river was the Kikuchi River. That river is your real name.”

Under Shiro’s hands the dragon shudders and then his bright scales spill away into the wind, revealing Keith’s face, grinning and delighted as they fall through the sky together. “Takashi, thank you for giving me back my real name.”

“What a great name,” Shiro says, grinning back.

“I just remembered,” Keith gasps. “The time you fell into me, you almost drowned.”

“You saved me, Keith,” Shiro says. “You caught me up and brought me to shore. How many times are you going to save me?”

“As many times as it takes,” Keith says, and they rise back up into the air.

-

Haggar greets them before the bathhouse as the other workers watch. “Did you bring back my baby?”

Lotor strolls across the bridge with his bird, transforming back only when he’s close to his mother.

“Please return Shirogane to the human world,” Keith says. “It was promised.”

“It doesn’t work like that,” Haggar says. “In life, there are laws.”

“Shut up,” Lotor says. “Don’t be stingy.”

“It was your curse,” Keith says. “You lured him in, made him think he was following a lost child. You tampered with the blessing on his arm.”

Shiro clutches his right arm, but with Keith so close there’s nothing of the fading or numbness he’s been dealing with.

Haggar stares at them and finally sighs. “Go,” she says. The workers erupt into cheers.

-

“Go back the way you came,” Keith says. “Don’t look back until you exit the tunnel.”

“What about you, Keith?” Shiro asks. “Will you be okay?”

“I’ll talk with Haggar and quit,” Keith says, beaming. “I’ll be okay, I have my real name back. I’ll go back to the other world, to my river.”

The path that Keith can follow is ending. Shiro closes his hand more tightly around Keith’s. “Will we meet again?”

“Yes,” Keith says. “Hopefully.”

“Hopefully,” Shiro sighs, looking at the glimmering thread he’s still wearing as a ring.

“Now, go on. Don’t look back.”

Shiro squeezes his hand once before he lets go and obeys.

-

The next time Shiro hikes through the Kikuchi Valley, someone is waiting beside the river for him. Laughing, he runs forward to meet him.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from a translation of Joe Hisaishi’s theme “The Name of Life” for Spirited Away, “I won’t forget/When we met/Seasons won’t change/That summer’s day/So listen to the river in your heart/And feel the universe reborn from the start.”  
> This may be the longest fic I've written...  
> Unlike Shiro I am a young-faced Asian...while I was on the plane starting on this, a flight attendant asked me if the reason I was sitting in a full row on an empty plane was because we were related. My parents ended up getting complimented on having a nonrebellious child who was happy to sit with family. In hindsight, he probably thought I was a teenager, not a 24 year old with a BS and all those fancy adult things.


End file.
